October
by Bryher
Summary: Success was found in buying a slave from the arena once, Aquila the Elder reasoned. It couldn't hurt to try it again. Esca/ OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** October

**Rating:** M

**Summary**: Success was found in buying a slave from the arena once, Aquila the Elder reasoned. It couldn't hurt to try it again. Esca O/C

**Author's Notes:** Because it is October, Jamie Bell is gorgeous and I am incredibly cold- even with the heating on and a woollen blanket.

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><p>The rain drummed on the roof of the villa, distracting the grey haired man hunched over a table laden with scrolls and tablets. Huffing, he straightened and pressed the small of his back with a small groan.<p>

'Fleta?' he called. Turning his gaze to the driving rain, he stared out across the lake that abutted his villa, watching as wild ducks splashed in and out of the reeds.

A slight draft told him that the door behind him had opened.

'Domine?'

'Do you remember when I said Marcus and Esca would arrive today?' Aquila the Elder queried without turning around. The ducks took flight with sounds of alarm, lurching into the air and away over the lake. Britain in October was unpredictable. Some days the air was still, clinging onto the warmth of summer. Others, like today, were cold and damp and full of winter's bite.

'You didn't tell me they were coming at all, Domine.' The words were without rancour, but Aquila turned with a frown to correct her, but his words were forgotten at the sight of his newly acquired servant. Fleta stood in the open doorway, wearing brown men's braccae and a long-sleeved blue woollen shirt under a belted leather tunic. Long boots wrapped with leather strips stopped just below her knee, accentuating her long legs. Her long blonde curls were tamed into a plait that hung over her shoulder, a few escaped strands framing a face that wore an expression of careful indifference across delicate features. If he hadn't been old enough to be her grandfather he'd have found her rather attractive, he mused.

'What are you wearing?' he asked in a bemused tone. Fleta glanced down at herself and fidgeted with the hem of the long-sleeved shirt. 'I had to go to the market for Stephanos,' she said by way of explanation.

' _For_ him, not _as_ him.'

A flicker of something that might have been irritation flashed through Fleta's eyes before her features settled back into careful blankness. 'I had to take a horse,' she supplied after a pause. When Aquila didn't answer- merely raised an eyebrow with an amused smile, she glared. 'I don't know if you've ever tried to ride a horse in a dress but-' she stopped. Casting her gaze to the floor, she gritted her teeth. 'Apologies, Domine.'

'When my nephew and his companion arrive, you will tend to them before serving at dinner,' Aquila said, ignoring the short outburst. 'Once that is done, you may retire for the day.'

Fleta nodded and made to close the door.

'Fleta,' Aquila the Elder called as he turned back to his parchments.

'Domine?'

'A _dress_ for dinner, if you would.'

The door clicked shut behind the servant woman as she left, and Aquila the Elder took a seat by the table to watch the rain drum into his patio.

Fleta had been in his villa for almost a month, but the marks of the Briton's journey to the corridors of the house were still evident on her slight form. The right side of her face still bore a sunrise of bruises and there was a barely discernable limp caused by the injury to her foot. She was fierce and hard, one moment obliging and then filled with a rage that simmered behind eyes the colour of the sea. Fingering a tear on the edge of a piece of parchment, Aquila wondered idly whether he was going soft in his old age.

Buying Esca for Marcus had come from the necessity of having only an aging Stephanos and a cook for his house which left a surplus of work. Buying Fleta had come from pity and a self-justification of reasoning that buying a slave from the arena had worked quite well once before. As a rumble of thunder echoed over the rippling water, Aquila the Elder sighed and willed his nephew to ride faster that his strange servant might be occupied.

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** October

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** Success was found in buying a slave from the arena once, Aquila the Elder reasoned. It couldn't hurt to try it again. Esca O/C

**Author's Notes:** Because it is October, Jamie Bell is gorgeous and I am cold- even with the heating on and a woollen blanket.

- Thanks to my reviewer. I know we're not meant to reply on stories, but you know who you are.

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><p>'I hope Stephanos has lit the fires,' Marcus grumbled, hunching over in his saddle and pulling the hood of his cloak tighter over his head.<p>

Esca glanced over at his travelling companion. The Roman's jaw was tight with pain, and Esca felt a pang of pity for the pain he knew the bigger man still harboured in his injured leg. The cold weather had made the Roman sluggish and melancholy, but it had lit a spark in Esca's chest. The chill air made his chest feel light, and the turning of the trees brought a spectacular beauty to his land.

They were barely a mile away from the villa in which he had been introduced as a servant, and it would be the first time that he had stepped inside it as a free man. Almost half a year had slid away into time since their return to the Roman side of the wall, half a year since his freedom had been restored. Their decision to travel the borders of the wall after presenting the Eagle back to the Governor of Londinium had been his own. Although he had never voiced his reasons to Marcus, he suspected the Roman had guessed his motives and sent a missive to his uncle explaining their immediate departure.

Esca had felt nervous even before they had reached Brigantes lands. His tribe had scattered when it became clear that they would lose the battle against the legionnaires who had come to take their land seven years ago. Esca slipped a hand under his jerkin and fingered the scar that ran along his right hip, a reminder of why he didn't escape. He had hoped to find someone- anyone from his people. That search had proved fruitless.

Esca leant back in his saddle, lifting his face to the rain and letting the water of his land wash away the stinging pain he felt at the knowledge that he was alone. He had been alone for seven years, he reasoned as he faced forward once more. _It had just never seemed so final_, said a treacherous voice at the back of his mind. And now, he was returning to the house where he was a slave. Idly, he scratched the neck of his finicky horse and wondered whether he would be given a room of his own or his old pallet in Marcus's room.

As if reading his mind, his friend reached a hand over the gap between the horses and grasped Esca's shoulder. 'You are a free man,' he said firmly. 'A guest in my Uncle's house- and you will be treated as such.'

Esca said nothing, but shot Marcus a grateful look. Marcus looked along the road ahead and sat up straighter in his saddle, a smile breaking out over his broad features.

'We're here,' he announced with excitement in his voice. Through the freezing rain, Esca saw the warm flicker of torches and the brooding bulk of the villa. As they drew closer, Esca could make out the shape of Aquila the Elder on the porch and a smaller blonde figure behind him.

'Who is that with your uncle?' he asked as they rode into the yard.

'I don't know,' Marcus replied with a shake of his head. As they dismounted, Aquila the Elder held out his hands in greeting. 'Marcus! You don't know how good it is to finally see you.' Embracing his nephew he held him tightly for a moment before holding him at arm's length with a smile. 'And Esca- of course, you are welcome in this house.' Aquila added with an easy smile. 'Fleta,' he called. 'The horses.'

Esca stared as the blonde figure behind his buyer's shoulder moved forward. The woman was slight, delicately featured and- bizarrely, dressed in men's clothes. She hurried down the steps and took hold of Marcus's horse before reaching a hand out for Esca's steed's reins. He paused for a moment before passing them over, feeling her cold fingers in his palm for a moment before she turned away from him, clicking her tongue and leading the horses toward the stables through the rain.

Marcus also stared at her retreating form before turning to his father's brother. 'Uncle?'

Aquila the Elder gave a wry smile. 'Come inside, both of you. We have much to talk about.'

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** October

**Rating:** M

**Summary**: Success was found in buying a slave from the arena once, Aquila the Elder reasoned. It couldn't hurt to try it again. Esca O/C

**Author's Notes:** Because it is October, Jamie Bell is gorgeous and I am incredibly cold- even with the heating on and a woollen blanket.

Also, Fleta's tribe mentioned here is also my 'tribe'. Rather than being an author-insertion ploy (those of you who know my writing know I don't do things by halves...), but rather I know I am more comfortable writing about what I know.

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><p>Fleta heaved the saddlebags over her shoulder and tried not to stagger on her bad ankle as she made her way back over to the villa. Leaning against a pillar of the porch, she stared out over the lake and watched a fork of lightning flash over the landscape. The bitter taste of humiliation burned in her mouth as she remembered the face of the Briton whose bags she held.<p>

With the bitterness swirled anger and frustration at her position.

By the account she had heard from Stephanos, the man had earned his freedom, but how could she do such a thing? And now he was _socialising_ with the invaders who enslaved their people. There was something in his eyes as he had looked at her, and it burned her insides to think it might have been pity. Curling her lip at the burgeoning thunderclouds she thought savagely that he should be ashamed and not her.

Pushing through the side door to the villa she made her way down the corridors until she reached the room of Aquila's nephew. Leaving the saddlebag on the bed, she glanced around at the sparse bedchamber and swung the remaining bag over her rain seemed to fall harder, filling the room with noise and Fleta thought longingly of her home.

The rain was never so bad there, their lands shielded from the worst of the autumn weather by the mountains and moorland hills which burned red and purple with heather as far as the eye could see. The harvest would have been collected by now, she thought. North of the Wall, they were safe from Roman taxation, and bellies would be full this night. Stepping toward the window, she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky, savouring the smell of wet stone and grass.

A rumble of thunder brought her back to the present and the weight of the remaining saddlebag on her shoulder- Aquila the Elder would not be amused if she dawdled and defied his order to wear a dress to serve.

Turning to leave, Fleta froze. Marcus's companion stood in the open doorway, studying her. His hair and tunic were wet from the journey, the material of his tunic clinging to his broad shoulders and lithe arms, which were folded across his chest.

They stood facing one another for a moment before Fleta lifted her chin defiantly. 'I was just bringing your bags to your room, Domine,' she said.

'Esca.' The wiry man said quickly.

'What?'

'My name is Esca. I am nobody's master.'

Fleta smiled bitterly. 'In this house, I am the slave of anyone who isn't a slave. I will leave your belongings in your room.' She strode purposefully toward the doorway and made to walk past him.

Esca reached out and grabbed her arm, snatching his saddle bag from her shoulder. 'I will not be served,' he said in a low voice.

Fleta wrenched her arm from his grasp. 'No, Domine,' she snarled. 'Not by me at least. I will not serve a traitor to his people.'

Esca flinched. It was barely discernible, but the flicker in his eyes and the hardening of his mouth spoke louder than words.

Immediately, Fleta felt a flush of shame. Even among the Britons, the Seal People were feared and hated- their strange customs and savagery earning them respect but few allies. She could not say that given an opportunity to humiliate the tribe who had attacked her own people more than once that she would not have taken it. Esca lifted his hand and it was Fleta who shied away, turning her face and closing her eyes in expectance of a blow. She was startled when she felt a strand of hair tugged out of her plait.

Esca curled the strand around his finger, examining the golden twist thoughtfully. He let it unravel and drop to the front of her tunic.

Fleta stood stock still, her heart pounding in her chest, suddenly aware of the power in his lithe frame. It had been foolish to insult him. The tattoos on his arm marked him as Brigantes- a people noted for their ferocity in battle and unwavering honour- an honour she had all but just spat on.

Fleta lifted her chin stubbornly as the taller man stepped closer, slipping his hand under her chin and raising her face to his own, his gaze boring into her own.

'What tribe are you?' he asked quietly.

Fighting the urge to dart away from him, she stared back. 'Votadini.'

'Votadini,' he repeated thoughtfully. 'You have the look of a Saxon.'

Fleta felt as though he had punched her in the gut.

Stepping away from the shocked slave, Esca shouldered his saddlebag and turned his back on her, pushing open a door over the hall from Marcus's room and closing it behind him quietly.

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** October

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** Success was found in buying a slave from the arena once, Aquila the Elder reasoned. It couldn't hurt to try it again. Esca O/C

**Author's Notes:** Because it is October, Jamie Bell is gorgeous and I am incredibly cold- even with the heating on and a woollen blanket.

Thank you to my reviewers. I am not rude by nature- I will endeavour to reply to reviews soon. Life is getting in the way. Apologies.

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><p>Easing his hands over his knotted thigh, Marcus groaned. The cold weather had been a bane to him, thus far, and with a scowl he realised that it would only get worse as autumn fell away into winter. Esca shot him a concerned glance from his chair close to the fire. Marcus shook his head, motioning with a nod toward his Uncle who was standing at the door tasking the new slave woman with chores for the morning.<p>

Esca raised an eyebrow but said nothing, taking another sip of wine, his gaze going back to the woman at the door. Marcus watched him for a moment while kneading his leg. Esca had been casting glances at the Briton woman since she had appeared at dinner –this time wearing a soft-looking green dress belted at the waist and a carefully blank expression.

Stretching his leg out as the muscles began to relax, Marcus looked up as his Uncle returned to his seat. At the doorway, he caught a glimpse of sea-coloured eyes before the latch clicked quietly.

'She's still learning,' Aquila the Elder said as he eased himself into the chair beside Marcus. 'She's either slow on the uptake or trying my patience.'

Esca set his cup aside and leant forward, his arms resting on his knees. 'Where did you get her?' he asked the older Roman.

Now it was Marcus's turn to raise his eyebrows. It was the first time Esca had directly addressed his former buyer over the entire evening- whenever Aquila the Elder had spoken to him, Esca had kept his answers short and polite, leaving the main body of talking to the two Romans.

It was not Esca's nature to be overly talkative, but the brooding expression that had stayed firmly in place for most of the evening spoke volumes. Marcus would have put money on the slave woman as being the cause.

'Who?' Aquila the Elder asked. Marcus caught the glint in his Uncle's eye and knew that the older man already knew the answer.

'Fleta.'

'Well,' his Uncle said with a shrug. 'I thought buying a slave from the arena worked well once- I thought I might try it again.'

If Esca had been angered by the comment, it didn't show on his face. He opened his mouth again, but Marcus cut him off. 'She was in the arena?' he asked, surprised. In a perverse way, the arena saw fit to have men fighting to the death, slaves ripped apart by wild animals, but it was rare indeed for a woman to be handed the same fate.

'No,' his Uncle replied. He took a sip of wine before examining the contents of his cup wryly. 'She was in the holding pens – this wine is terrible. Stephanos!'

'How did she get there?' Esca pressed. Aquila the Elder held up a hand as he instructed his body slave to get more wine. Esca sat back in his chair with a mulish expression, irritated at being brushed off.

Marcus shook his head with a small smile, trying to let the Briton know that his Uncle meant no slight. He got an arched brow in return.

'No,' Aquila continued as Stephanos hurried out of the room. 'I spared her the arena- she wouldn't have stood a chance anyway in the state she was in.' Seeing the questioning expression of his guests, Aquila shook his head. 'The side of her face was so swollen she could barely see- and the limp she's got?' He trailed off with a sigh. 'She was pissing blood for a week,' he said eventually. 'Stephanos called me everything when Doctore left her at the gate.'

'What happened to her?' Marcus asked, his own curiosity sparked.

His Uncle shrugged. 'She won't say. I gather she was a slave before, but for whom and why she ended up as... entertainment. Well,' Aquila said with a sigh. 'That is her secret. She's got a fierce little temper though. Maybe that's what landed her in that place to start with.'

The fire popped loudly, a log rolling out of the grate and smouldering angrily on the flagstones.

'Why did you buy her?' Esca said quietly. 'No Roman wants a slave who can't work.'

Marcus's head whipped around, his eyes casting a sharp, warning glance at his friend. Esca, however, was not looking at Marcus. Instead, he was watching Aquila the Elder with something that- had he known the Briton better, could have passed for respect.

Aquila shrugged. 'I saw in her what I saw in you,' he said honestly. 'I saw pride. I saw fierceness and courage, even in the state she was in and the death that she faced. I didn't want to see that killed off by a gladiator.'

The silence was thick and cloying, and Marcus watched as Esca stared at his Uncle with an unreadable expression.

'Perhaps I'm going soft,' Aquila began, pushing himself up from his chair. 'Perhaps I bought her because I felt sorry for her.'

'If it was pride you saw in her, she would not thank you for that,' Esca said quietly.

'Esca,' Marcus said sharply.

'No,' Aquila acknowledged, holding a placating palm toward his nephew. 'No, he is right. But she is a slave, and if her pride were so wounded by that thought then she would not be here. I have no doubt that she would have fled.'

Esca said nothing, the firelight reflected in his eyes.

'I am going to bed,' the older Roman announced with a weary smile. 'An old mind does not keep up with young conversation for long. I shall see you both in the morning.'

'Goodnight, Uncle,' Marcus said with a sideways glance at Esca.

'Goodnight,' Esca echoed with a nod.

As soon as his Uncle had closed the door Marcus turned to Esca. 'What was all that about?' he asked.

Esca shook his head, taking a long draught of wine. He caught the Roman's eye and clenched his jaw. 'I spoke to her in your room,' he said quietly. Marcus frowned as Esca opened his mouth, shut it again and then shook his head.

'Esca-' he began.

'She called me a traitor.' The Briton said shortly. 'And I am. The Seal People... they have few allies, but I helped you get the Eagle back- I helped Rome regain some of its honour. That- to any Briton, is wrong.'

Marcus said nothing, watching the smaller man's face carefully. Esca took another drink, watching the log that had dropped onto the flagstones.

'I don't know who I am, Marcus.' Esca said running his hand through his hair in frustration. 'Ever since we went back to the borders...' he trailed off, looking troubled.

Marcus took a breath, leaning forward. 'Esca,' he said softly. 'I know that you wanted to find people from your tribe-' he held up a hand as Esca's gaze flew to his own and the Briton opened his mouth to protest. 'I know that's why we went. I doubt they would see you as a traitor- why would you look for them else?'

Esca looked away, his jaw tightening. 'I didn't think as far what I would say after I found them,' he admitted. 'That I've returned after stealing the Eagle from the Seal People with my ex-master?'

Marcus sat back, stung. Esca caught his friend's expression.

'Do not mistake me- I do not regret what I did. It was my choice- it was my honour. My self-respect. Friendship.' He smiled wryly. 'I've found few friends in the seven years since my tribe died, Marcus. If you'd told me five years ago my first true friend would be a Roman I would have slit your throat.' The young man sat back in his chair, legs stretched out before him. 'It doesn't change the fact that I am quite alone in my breed. You have your Uncle, friends from the military... And I am the Briton cur who follows you still with no tribe to call his own.'

Marcus said nothing for a few moments. He had never heard this many words coming from Esca at once. Truly, when they first knew one another, the same number of words would have been painfully scraped out over a week.

'You aren't a cur,' he said finally. Esca shot him a look- the kind that Marcus hated, a knowledgeable look that came from bloodshed, beatings and loss. He would never say it to Esca, but the Briton had old eyes.

'What else did she say to you,' Marcus asked, pointedly changing the topic.

Esca shook his head. 'Little. Though she says she's Votadini.' Seeing Marcus's nonplussed expression, he added. 'North of the Wall.'

Marcus raised his eyebrows, surprised. 'What's she doing here?'

'I don't know,' Esca murmured. 'But I don't think I'm the only outcast. She looks like a Saxon.'

Marcus nodded thoughtfully. 'I hadn't thought it until now.' A small movement caught his eye, and he looked to the door. There was a swift movement in the corridor, visible through the narrow fissure where his uncle had not closed the door fully- a flash of green material and blue eyes. Esca had seen the movement too. Marcus looked at his friend with a wry smile.

'It would seem you're as interesting to her as she is to you.'

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><p>Fleta shut the door to her room as quickly as she dared. Leaning against it, she laid her palms flat against the wood and forced her breathing to slow. How could she have been so stupid? Both men had survived the Seal People- had she really thought that she would go unnoticed for long? Closing her eyes, she leant her head back- and jumped as a knock reverberated against the wood at her back.<p>

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** October

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** Success was found in buying a slave from the arena once, Aquila the Elder reasoned. It couldn't hurt to try it again. Esca O/C

**Author's Notes: **It is no longer October, and it was -6 Degrees Celsius this morning. Winter has truly set in across Votadini land- and by God it's cold!

Thank you very much to my reviewers- you're the reason I keep writing.

Things get a bit... heated in this chapter. Just a heads up.

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><p>Lifting the heavy saddle from the rack, Fleta stifled a yawn. Winter sunlight filtered into the stables, catching the dust and flecks of straw that danced in the air, stirred up by the hooves of the younger Aquila's gelding.<p>

Settling the tack onto the saddleblanket, Fleta carefully smoothed out the creases rucked up by the worn leather, one hand soothingly stroking over the gelding's neck. In the other stall, a dappled mare whickered loudly, flicking her head impatiently. Fleta angled a stern glare at the mare.

'You're as troublesome as your master,' she muttered under her breath.

Leading the gelding to the tethering post, she wrapped the reins loosely around the wood, resting her hands on the bar for a moment. The owner of the mare had been on her mind for the past four days. Since the night that she had fled the corridor after overhearing the younger Aquila and the Briton in conversation. Fleta bowed her head, stretching her aching shoulders. She still didn't understand. How could he think that he was so alone? How could he live among Romans while he was served by his own people? It hadn't helped that the Briton had watched her every move. She felt his eyes on her whenever their paths crossed, when she served dinner or ran errands for Aquila the Elder. There had been one occasion on the day after the night she had heard the unlikely pair talking, when she had been by the lake alone and turned to see the Briton leaning against a pillar on the veranda, watching her.

She flexed the fingers of her right hand over the bar, remembering the feeling of the door latch straining in her fingers when she failed to answer the knocking. She had stayed pressed against the door, fingers wrapped around the cool metal long after the footsteps of the caller had padded away. She hadn't dared mention it to anyone, with no proof that it was Esca who had stood on the other side of the thick wood. All that she had known in that moment was that she would die of shame on the spot if she was alone with the Briton. Fleta bowed her head, stretching her aching shoulders. She still didn't understand. How could he think that he was so alone? How could he

Four days of staring at floors, four days of conducting her duties silently and without complaint... four days of ignoring the neutral, even voice that echoed around her mind. _'You have the look of a Saxon.' _

Turning, she eyed up the mare, who regarded her just as suspiciously.

'Are you going to kick me if I try to saddle you?' she asked the horse, cautiously picking up a thick saddle blanket. 'Not that I wouldn't deserve it,' she murmured softly, keeping her voice friendly as she slipped into the stall with the mare. 'Your kicking me would put me and your master on even ground,' she continued, positioning the blanket over the fidgety animal, keeping her feet well away from the mare's agitated hooves. 'Though I'd not tell him that' she added, reaching for the saddle. 'The less I see of Esca, son of Cunoval...' she pulled the girth strap tight. 'The less the better. My shame is greater than his.'

The last words were murmured into the dappled mare's neck, her hands stroking soothingly over the shifting muscles. Leaning her forehead against the mare, Fleta closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of horse. The mare stilled under her hands as they stroked soothingly.

Fleta felt a pull deep in her chest as the mare whickered softly. Standing here, eyes closed and the smell of horse flooding her senses with the cold winter air, she could be standing on the beaches of her home. From the wild moors to the empty sands of the cliff-sheltered bays, the land ruled by the Votadini was rugged and beautiful. The longer she stayed away, the bigger the hole in her chest seemed to feel. Going back, however, was not an option. The mare shifted again, whickering until Fleta lifted her head from the animal's neck.

Esca stood on the other side of the mare, watching her. Swallowing a yelp of fright, Fleta jerked back. Almost in the same instant, she felt a deep blush swelling up from what seemed like her toes to the roots of her hair. Whipping around, she made to duck out of the stall. A warm hand grasped her wrist, encircling it completely and pulling her up short.

Esca darted around the mare, dragging her back into the stall and out of view of the villa. Fleta kept her eyes cast to the floor, her cheeks stained red with embarrassment at being caught in such a vulnerable position. The mare whinnied happily, mouthing the edge of Esca's tunic in greeting.

'You've been avoiding me,' the Brigantes man said quietly, ignoring his mare. He was standing close, his hand still wrapped around her wrist. 'Why?'

Fleta steeled herself and looked up into his face. His grey eyes were intense, bordering on a deep blue with frustration. 'You insult me, spy on my conversations and hide from me,' he murmured, his voice little more than a low growl. 'I want to know why.'

Fleta shook her head and looked away, trying unsuccessfully to twist her hand from his grasp. Esca grabbed her other wrist, preventing her searching fingers prying his own away from her skin. 'You're the first free Briton I've seen for years,' she whispered suddenly. Esca went almost completely still, and she ploughed on, struggling to look anywhere but at him. 'You come here an equal to a Roman- a former slave! You stole from the Seal People and lived- you could do anything but you stay. You _stay. _You could be on the other side of the Wall living with our people! You _choose_ to stay with the people who enslave us. So I hide from you. I hide from watching the freedom that I want and cannot have walking around in a Roman house. I won't betray myself to hope.' She looked up at him then, shame burning her insides as she felt tears brimming.

'I should not have called you a traitor,' she whispered. 'I apologise, Domine.'

'Esca.'

'It isn't prop-'

'I don't care,' Esca growled. He stepped even closer, forcing Fleta to look up or risk burying her face in his chest. It was at that moment that the mare, tired of being ignored, pushed into Esca's back.

Fleta was pushed flush against the stall wall, and Esca was pushed flush against her, one leg pressed between hers in an attempt to regain his balance, one hand releasing her wrist and gripping the top of the partition. Esca braced himself against the mare in an attempt to stop the horse making the pair of them at one with the wood.

The mare whickered, pushing back against her master and Fleta gasped as Esca's hips and abdomen pressed firmly against her. Esca swore under his breath, his face a scant inch from hers. The mare pushed harder, and Esca's jaw clenched, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. He released her other wrist, both hands now braced on either side of her. The muscles in his tattooed biceps flexed as he attempted to push the mare away. Fleta reached her hands around him, gently stroking the mare's flanks, trying to push the animal away from them. With a snort, the horse retreated, breath turning to clouds of steam in the frigid air.

Esca stared down at Fleta but did not move, his leg still pressed firmly between her own, his angular frame flush against her pliant body.

Fleta swallowed, trying to ignore the heat that pooled low in her belly at the feel of him pressed against her, then jumped as his hand dropped from the stall to curve around her neck, his thumb lifting her chin until her eyes met his. Esca shifted a little, tilting his head down until his face was so close to hers that Fleta was drowning in his gaze.

'Do you think I'm a traitor for staying with Marcus?' he asked softly. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his expressive eyes were half-lidded. He looked positively feral.

'I... don't understand why you chose to stay,' she whispered, distracted by the feel of him as he shifted a little. The pool of heat in her gut became a dull roaring sensation in her ears when she felt his hardness against her abdomen. Her hands, unoccupied after the mare had moved away, fell to his hips.

Without warning, Esca dipped his head, capturing her mouth fiercely with his own. Fleta's gasp of shock was swallowed by his insistent lips, as his thumb stroked gently over the pulse point in her neck. His tongue swept over her lower lip, and Fleta opened her mouth willingly, her fingers fisting in the hem of his tunic. Esca's other hand left the stall and slid down her side, somehow getting between her backside and the wood, pulling her tighter against him. Dimly, she thought she heard someone calling Esca and wondered whether it was her own voice, trapped within her by his lips.

Fleta felt like she was drowning. Everything around her was Esca. He kissed her as though he were battling her, though she had long since surrendered.

As suddenly as he had begun, Esca pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, breathing ragged. Fleta realised with horror that the voice she had heard was in fact Marcus. The younger Aquila shouted again, but his voice sounded much closer.

Fleta stared at Esca, her own breathing irregular. He was staring at her with a mixture of triumph, anger and desire, his lips pink and swollen from his assault. Kissing her once again, sharply and stealing her breath, he pushed away from her and took the reins of his mare.

'I'm not the only traitor now, Fleta,' he whispered. Giving her a wolfish smile, he led his mare out of the stall.

Fleta stared after him for a moment before sinking down onto the straw and putting her head into her hands.

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><p>Please review?<p> 


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